


Despondent Emblem

by ustulations



Category: Dreamwastaken, GeorgeNotFound - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), dreamnotfound - Fandom
Genre: A Little Porn, Bottom Gogy, Character Death, DNF, M/M, Tattoo, Too in love to function sometimes, dreamnotfound, mirror, sir has a thing for mirrors, tattoo artist - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:54:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29641938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ustulations/pseuds/ustulations
Summary: Once every three weeks, a man walks into a tattoo parlor, seeking the same tattoo.A tally mark, or two, maybe three, added to his array of them. It’s odd, especially not knowing why he’s getting them.Curiosity strikes one day when George is giving him four new tally marks. It’s a new number, a higher one than normal.He asks, and receives an answer that’s not expected.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 125





	Despondent Emblem

George was curious. He always has been, probably always will be. But this curiosity pooled deep within in, soaking up any form of dignity he had ever had and using it to create lumps in his throat. Lumps that would never go away no matter how hard he swallowed nothing but air, no matter how much water he drunk to try and fight it back; to beat it down back to where it had came from. 

This curiosity lead to a certain someone. 

This someone wasn't someone who he sees often, but it was often enough for George to call him a peculiar acquaintance. Several conversations had sparked between the two, but they were simple and meaningless. Conversations that were polite because that's what you've been taught as a kid. Conversations that would lead nowhere besides a simple "How are you?" and a simple answer of, "I'm good, you?" 

The desire to speak more with this acquaintance was burning deep within George. It ran through his veins and crawled through every thought in his mind. It blossomed a burning fire in his chest, that would go to his fingertips when he would come within three feet of him. This desire spoke more than words, and George would never say it out loud. 

He would never admit the feeling, not to any one. Besides, how could you admit a feeling you never knew you even had? He didn't know what he was feeling, he only knew he yearned for more with him.

He needed more, so much that he would go to certain lengths to see him. 

This lengths consisted of memorizing his schedule—when he'd come in to get a new tattoo. It took three weeks to memorize his schedule, because he only ever came in once every three weeks. 

George was content with that amount. It gave him time for him to prepare himself for any new conversations that may spark between the two. He counted the days on a calendar in the tattoo parler one day, asking specifically to have work on these days. It became regular that George gave him the tattoos, it became comfortable. 

Comfortable for George to sit down with him, to speak meaningless conversations with him. Comfortable for George to become less tense and take longer to give the tattoo. 

George would never admit it, but he took longer sometimes, just so he could have more time with him. So he could talk more meaningless conversations that they would never remember. 

George remembered the first time he gave him a tattoo. 

—

"Hello," George greeted the new customer who walked in, his voice not as cheerful as he hoped it would of been. 

"Hello!" A new voice spoke. George stopped sketching on the notepad he was drawing in, moving his head up to glance at the male. 

The voice was new, it sparked new interest in George's chest. It sparked invisible fireworks in George's lungs. It sparked random heat to pepper across George's cheeks. It sparked rapid heart beating that came from his chest unwillingly. It was a simple 'Hello' yet it still managed to mean so much to George. 

George closed his mouth that he didn't know was open. The man smiled, it wasn't a natural smile but it was a polite one. He walked over to where George was sat, twisting his neck to see the sketch. 

George blinked away his sudden shock, his sudden spark of interest, and closed his sketchbook. 

"Are you here for a tattoo?" George rambled, his voice coming out too quickly. He would scold himself for his nervousness later, but right now he had bigger problems to deal with. 

"Is this not a tattoo parlor?" His voice came out joking, but it still made George's stomach drop. 

"Oh, um, yes it is." George mentally face palmed himself. He was just an average customer, he needed to get his shit in line. George cleared his throat. "What tattoo are you looking to get today?" 

"A tally mark," he responded almost immediately, his tone indifferent at this point. 

George felt questions bubbling in his stomach, daring to spring from his throat, but he refrained from saying anything. A tally mark? It seemed generic, but who was he to judge why someone wanted a tattoo? He wanted to ask why he was getting the tattoo, what he was counting. But he knew better—knew better not to ask someone about their tattoos unless they told them directly. 

"Alright," George mumbled, opening his sketchbook to a clean page. He started drawing, feeling eyes on him but he didn't look up. He didn't dare to. 

"What were you drawing before I walked in?" He asked, his tone seemed curious. The look on his face showed that he wanted to know, that he wanted to know more about whatever it was. 

"Hm—Oh!" George turned the page back to the one he was on. Lines created a beautiful train wreck, just what his client wanted. His client asked for him to create a sketch that would show emotion between the lines, and he tried to create that as best he could. "A client called and asked for a sketch to show something between the lines that showed raw emotion. I tried to embody what he wanted, but I'm not sure it's in the style he wants." 

"Even if it's not, it's still a beautiful sketch," the man admired the drawing for another second, before having soft wind blow in his face when the page turned. 

George felt a small heat rising in his cheeks again, trying to keep the heat away. He hoped it would die down before he looked back at him, but the man had already turned and studied his blush. 

George finished the sketch easily, being so it was an easy drawing. The same curiosity bubbled beneath his tongue as he handed the sketch to the man, watching as he studied the picture. It was just a simple line, but it had different depths. 

"Perfect," he smiled, handing the sketch back to George. George nodded his head, biting back on his tongue when he stood up. 

Walking over to an empty chair in the empty parler, the man sat down, adjusting himself to be flushed with the front of the chair. George watched his gesture, telling himself that he wants the tattoo somewhere on his shoulders or back. 

"How large would you like the tattoo?" George asked, sitting down at the station they were at. He placed the parchment down against tracing paper, taping it down to the steel table. 

"The size you have on your sketch is perfect," the man stated, softly speaking as if there were a baby sleeping near them. 

George felt the same blossoming from earlier bloom down through his chest and into the pit of his stomach. A nervous shake was found in his fingertips, preventing him from having steady lines on his first sketch. He tossed the tracing paper, feeling eyes bore through the back of his head. 

"Did you mess up?" He inquired, his voice coming out understanding. George hummed and nodded. 

"I didn't like how that one came out," he hummed, keeping his eyes down on the tracing paper. 

He heard a stifled chuckle from beside him. Curiously, George turned to see him watching with a sly smile on his lips. God, even his lips were as perfect as the rest of him. 

"Are you trying to make it perfect for me?" 

George could feel his cheeks rise with the same heat that had been there since the man came in. 

"I try to make every sketch perfect for my clients," George mumbled under his breath, letting out a shaky breath afterward. 

He almost stopped mid drawing when he realized just how rude that sounded. Regret ran cold through his veins now, interrupting the recent infatuation that ran through them. He was only teasing, yet George managed to make a dick move. He'd beat himself down for it later. He knew the man didn't have the same regret he did after speaking so rudely, but George couldn't help but feel bad. 

The man hummed, his smile fading involuntarily. 

Finishing the tracing quickly, George put on one of the light tables and placed the tracing paper down on top of it. He grabbed yet another piece of tracing parchment, tracing over the lines one more time to have it perfect. 

Now he'd make it perfect for him, just because he could. Just because he wanted to. 

Once done tracing, he handed the paper to the man and asked him if he could hold it. He excepted gratefully, grabbing the paper and holding it between his fingers lightly, careful not to crumble the paper. 

George admired his gentleness. Admired how quiet he was and how he let George work without any distractions. George admired how patient he seemed, how playful he seemed. George admired the slight curl that always placed on his lips, a small smile that always stayed there. 

"Where would you like the tattoo?" George asked. 

"My right shoulder, right above my shoulder blade," he explained, pointing to his shoulder with his free hand. George hummed, putting gloves on his hands.

"If—If you don't mind, can you life your shirt, please?" George stammered, though he tried hard not to. 

A form of nervousness was still present in the atmosphere. Only to George, but he wanted to know if the other man felt it to. He decided against it, simply because of how confident he portrayed himself to be—how open he seemed. Pools of sweat dripped between the black latex of his gloves and his fingertips, causing him to subconsciously wipe his gloves onto his jeans, though nothing would help the sweat that dripped inside of his gloves. 

The man placed the parchment down on a nearby counter, pulling his arms behind his neck and grabbing a fistful of his shirt. He easily slid the shirt up, pulling it so the ends of it rested along his collarbones. 

George almost felt his breath hitch at the gesture, but he controlled his breathing. Lean muscle ran up his back and into his shoulder. Small, gentle dimples dipped down on the small of his back. His back looked smooth, perfect in every way. 

Heat rose to George's cheeks again, but he pushed it away this time, telling himself to stay controlled. 

Grabbing the parchment from over his shoulder, George held it right above his skin to know where he wanted to put it. He closed one eye and found the area he had described. He placed the parchment back down, grabbing for a razor. 

"Have you ever gotten a tattoo before?" George asked in a low rumble, trying to keep his voice quiet so he didn't lost concentration. 

"Mh-Hm," the man hummed, "I haven't." 

"Alright," George nodded to himself, getting ready to go over how a tattoo is done, "Would you like me to do a rundown of how a tattoo is done?" 

"Sure," he mumbled, moving his head to look at George, "I like listening to your voice." 

George was sure the man saw the blush that peppered his cheeks now. He let out a small giggle, then a small smile replaced his concentrated frown. 

"Okay, well," George began, holding up a razor, "The first thing we need to do is clean the area of any existing hair," he walked over to the mans shoulder, placing a hand over the area, "Do you mind?" 

"Not at all," he responded. George ran the razor over his skin lightly, already sure he'd get no hair because of how smooth his back was. 

"Next, you use soap to clean the area," George explained. He walked over to a nearby sink to the closest station and ran a paper towel under the running water. He waited for the water to warm up so it didn't become sudden shock for him. 

George walked back over to him with the soap and wet cloth, wiping down the area gently. 

"You have such gentle hands," the man turned and looked back at George, watching him grin. 

"Then, you dry the area," George was making eye contact now, though he didn't need to. He was going into far too much detail, and he knew that, but he didn't mind. The man didn't seem to mind either. 

"And then what?" The mans voice came out slow, drawled out almost. George walked over to the parchment and grabbed it, placing it on his skin. 

"Then, we put the stencil on," George spoke slowly to, trying not to move a muscle too far because he wanted the space to be perfect. 

George then moved to the tattoo gun, turning it on for a second to show him the speed he would be doing the tattoo at. Though, the man didn't seem nervous at all—he seemed content. 

"Some clients refer to it as a small bee sting, but everyone's pain tolerance is different," George referred, moving so he was on the chair next to him. 

"I like to consider myself someone with a high pin tolerance," the man let out in a breathy chuckle. 

George hummed, moving the chair down so his shoulder was in the area he needed it to be. The man leaned against the chair, seemingly bored, or just trying to stay calm. 

"Ready?" George asked tentatively, his voice soft. 

The man hummed, keeping his head forward. George turned on the tattoo gun, moving over to the colors. "Would you like black ink?" 

"Yes, please," the man mumbled, watching as George dipped the needle into the black ink. 

George moved back over to his shoulder and put the needle down against the skin. Whenever he tattooed, he was in his element. He loved the idea of tattooing. He always admired people's ideas for how personal some were, and just how some were something someone liked. He couldn't help but wonder, all over again, why he was getting a tally mark. 

The tattoo went by quickly, little to no movement by the man in front of him. No conversation had sparked and George was grateful, for the most part. 

After he was done, the man walked to a mirror and smiled. "It's perfect, thank you." 

George grabbed a wrap, placing it over the tattoo carefully. He almost had to stand on his tiptoes because of how tall he was, but he finished quickly and placed a piece of tape on each side. 

George smiled, walking over to the cash register. He pulled his gloves off and threw them in the closest trash can. The man pulled the shirt over his head and followed George to the cash register. 

"Your total comes out to be 55 dollars," he politely explained, waiting for his payment. 

He handed him a debit card with no hesitation, watching as George took it with gentle hands, swiping the car quickly. He handed the card back to him, giving him a friendly smile. 

"Have a nice night!" George politely waved as he walked toward the door. 

"You too!" The man replied, walking over to the door and almost walking out. He stopped for a moment, turning back around, "What's your name?"

"Oh, my name is George," George responded. "What's your name?" 

The man just gave a smile, repeating the name under his breath a few times. He walked out without any hesitation. George furrowed his eyebrows, but decided to let it go. 

He needed to figure out why he was so giddy around him. Why he could barely speak without his cheeks flushing a bright crimson. 

—

Days went by without a ounce of sight of the man. 

George grew restless at nights thinking of him, tossing and turning between the cold air and his warm covers. He grew impatient during the days, constantly staring down the doors to the tattoo parlor, hoping, wishing, practically pleading that he'd walk through the doors again. 

His coworkers seemed to notice. 

One day, his coworker teased him about it. 

"Who are you expecting?" Nick, his best friend, also his coworker, asked. He stood next to George, staring at the door as thoroughly as George was. 

"Oh, nobody." George stammered, his voice coming out quickly and rushed. Nick knew better. 

"C'mon dude, nobody stares at a door as intently as you do and doesn't expect someone special to walk through it," Nick waited for a moment before gasping, "Does Gogy have a boyfriend!"

"What! No!" George quickly rejected his statement, his accusations, but Sapnap didn't care. He was just gasping to himself and staring at George in shock. "Sapnap, I do not have a boyfriend!" 

"The blush on your cheeks says otherwise," he smiled now, watching as George put a hand to his cheek to cover his blush. 

George huffed, turning his head back to the door. Even if he wanted to have a boyfriend, he'd only want it with one person. Wait, what? He was infatuated with a practical stranger. He wanted to get to know him more, get to know who he is. 

Hell, all he wanted was a name at this point. 

"Seriously, who's the guy?" Sapnap asked, his tone going serious, along with his facial expression. 

"Nobody," George answered, his tone stern. "I have no guy that I'm even remotely interested in—"

"Fine, suit yourself," Sapnap mumbled with sass behind his tone. He walked away, calling out, "I will know who he is!" 

"There is no he, Sapnap!" George yelled, that being his final statement to Sapnap. 

There definitely was a he.

Sapnap teased him for a long time after that. He watched as George watched after the door day by day, doing his tattoo's slowly and more accurately for some reason—as if he were dragging out the day. As if he wanted to stay at the parlor for a longer amount of time each day. 

He did. George wanted to stay in the parlor until he saw the same face walk through it again. But, then he thought that maybe it was too good to be true. That he would only be graced with his presence once for his whole lifetime. He didn't want to think that, he didn't want to reject himself of the thought that one day he'd walk through the door again, the same polite smile plastering his lips. 

It almost pained him that he may not see him again, but he told himself that the probability of seeing him again was high. They lived in a small town, a small city. It wasn't run down, but it was dark and the alleyways were dirty. Though you rarely saw any homes less people roaming the streets, so it was as safe as an almost rundown town could get. 

He waited, for what felt like months, but it had only been a few weeks. 

Three weeks, to be exact, when he saw him next. 

He walked through door late at night, a bell sounding above his head as he walked in. 

"Hello, welcome to—" George cut himself off as he glanced up to the person who walked through the door. It was him. The day had finally come. 

A imaginary vine of anxiety weaved through his stomach to his heart, then to his lungs, squeezing tightly. The steady suffocation lasted for what felt like the few weeks he had waited, it was painful. It was thrilling. It was nervous. It was him. 

"Hello, again." His voice called out, walking to where George was standing in the back of the shop. 

George had a mixture of relief and shock written on his face. His lips were parted ever so slightly as he stared at the man, his lips also frowning just a tad due to his shock. His eyes were widened just a bit, but he closed them to blink harshly for a second. He opened his eyes and saw he was here. It was real. 

"You haven't been here in a while," George pointed out, watching over to one of the chairs. This chair just happened to be the same one he gave the man a tattoo in last time. He remembered. 

"I haven't needed to be," he shrugged, his intentions clearly good. George couldn't help but frown at the statement, feeling unimportant to him. But he remembered he was because he was just a tattoo artist, nothing special. 

"Is that a good thing?" George found himself asking. 

"It is." 

"That's good, then." George responded, walking over to the stencil he had kept from last time. He suspected he would be back, and he was right. He just wasn't sure if he needed the tally mark again. 

"Yes, it is." He mumbled, watching George pull out the stencil. "How did you know?" 

"Oh, I don't know," George shook his head, going over to the station with tracing parchment. "You seem to be counting something." 

"I am," He replied, his tone expressing that he didn't want to talk about it anymore. George took the signal, not wanting to upset him, and let the subject drop completely. 

George worked silently, the soft sketching sound of a pen on parchment. He turned when he finished, seeing he already had his shirt off and his shoulder ready for the tattoo to be done. 

"You're other tattoo healed nicely," George mumbled under his breath after inspecting it. It healed nicer than any other tattoos he's seen. 

"That's good," he tried to look back over his shoulder at it, "I haven't really paid much attention to it." 

"Did you clean it properly?" George asked, grabbing for a newly packaged razor. He opened it and ran it along the right side of the tattoo. 

"I did," he mumbled, looking in the mirror in front of the station. He watched George carefully. "I cleaned it with soap and water, than I put a small amount of Vaseline on it." 

"Good." George nodded his head, rubbing down the area with soap and a warm cloth. The man watched George in the mirror even closer now. 

George grabbed for the stencil, making sure it was perfectly in line with the other one, the spacing good. George turned to look in the mirror, just to be brought with his eyes staring back at him. 

George wondered if he felt the same anxiety he did when he walked through the door. Or if he was completely fine and thought of it to be a simple tattoo shop, with nobody special inside. George wondered what his thoughts were, why he was getting these tally marks. George wondered who he spoke too outside of the tattoo parlor, who he thought was special to him. 

"You know," George mumbled as he wiped the stencil to make sure it was dry, "I never got your name. You walked right out." 

The man let a smile accompany his concentrated expression, a breathy chuckle leaving his lips. George let his face stay blank, but a small smile creeped onto his lips as well. 

"I don't remember you asking, it must of slipped my hearing range," he mumbled through a smile. George rolled his eyes at that. 

"I'm sure it did," George teased. 

"I'd gladly tell you if you asked again," His voice came out soft, his eyes soft as he watched George's movements through the mirror. 

George grabbed the tattoo needle, smiling, "You just want to hear my voice." 

"I do. I missed it." The man stated, his voice growing even softer and more mellow. It sounded peaceful. George glanced to the mirror, just smiling. 

"Would you like black ink?" George asked, making his voice as soft as his. He nodded, turning and watching George drop the needle in the black ink. 

"Are you going to ask me?" His voice came out more firm this time, almost knowingly. 

"What's your name?" George asked, wiping off the ink from his skin and seeing the line. The man smiled, answering happily. 

"Clay, but nobody calls me that," he foretold, biting back the grin that was on his tongue. 

"What do they call you?" George's focused voice asked slowly. He was finishing the first line, wiping off the extra ink. 

"Dream." He proudly stated, his lips forming a grin. 

"Why Dream?" George asked, his tone quiet now. 

"Why not?" He answered, his tone cheerful and immediate. George smiled as he finished the second line, admiring the work. 

Dream walked over to the mirror, already handing George his debit card. George had walked over to the cash register, swiping the car. 

"It's perfect," he stated, his tone soft as he admired the work in the mirror. He touched the wrap George had put over it, but then turned away when he saw George walk to the mirror. 

"I know, I did it." George watched as he pulled his shirt over his head, silently hurt that he couldn't stay shirtless. 

"Are you saying you're perfect?" Dream asked, walking to the door. He was placing his card back into his wallet when he turned to see George biting his lip back to bit back a smile. 

"Are you saying I'm wrong?" George rose an eyebrow now, watching as his expression changed to a smile. He seemed knowing, like he knew something that he didn't want to tell. 

With that, he left the tattoo parlor. 

George let out a shaky breath. 

—

A few months had passed, every three weeks George saw him. Dream either asked for one, two and sometimes even three, tally marks. It was new that he wasn't getting only one, and George definitely took notice to the change in his voice when he said more than one tally mark. 

A certain excitement intertwined itself with George's nervousness to see him again, crawling up imaginary vines in his stomach to his throat. 

He didn't mean for it to happen, it just did. But a certain pool of anxiousness came when he knew it was time for him to come to the tattoo parlor, time to receive yet another tally mark to his large array of them already. Perhaps it was anxiety, maybe longing. Longing to see him again.

George shook his head and threw that thought out of his mind. It wasn't longing, it surely wasn't that. The most they've ever talked about was why George was a tattoo artist. How could George long for a stranger who never wanted to talk about more with him? Maybe he had to be the one to ignite the conversation. Then again; he was never a conversation starter.

They had shared sweet conversations between ongoing tattoo guns and painless tattoo receiving. Long conversations between nervousness and confidence—you can guess who's who. 

George loved it. Loved getting nervous around him, it made him feel good. As weird as it sounds, he started to feel like home. And he shouldn't, George knew that, but he did. 

A familiar bell ringed, this time, it was during the middle of the afternoon. His usual streak of coming between the times of 10 p.m. - 12 a.m. had been lost just by this one visit. George mumbled a lazy hello, not really in the best mood today, but that changed when he saw who walked through the door. 

"Hello," he chirped, his voice growing happy. 

"Hello," Dream sighed, his tone sounding as tired as George felt. He ran a hand over his face and walked over to the station that George had dedicated to him just a few weeks ago. 

"I'm dedicating this station to you!" George chuckled, pointing to the area they were sat at. 

"Good! I'm sure I'll need one," his voice was as cheerful as George's was now, his smile plastered from his eyes to his lips. 

George loved his genuine smile. 

He hadn't seen it in a few weeks, simply because he had seemed down recently, like he was stressed. He had dark circles under his eye now; indicating he had been losing sleep. George hated watching him lose the sleep, but he never brought it up. 

"Another tally?" George grabbed the stencil after watching him nod. He held up the three stencils, gesturing between the new stencils he had made. 

He made two more, one with two tally's and the other with three. It was easier than making a new trace every time. George had also made a longer tally for when he had to do a diagonal one. 

"Yes, four more," Dreams voice turned deep for a moment, his eyes scrunching from a frown. George could tell it wasn't forces.

Four was a new number. It was higher. 

"Oh," George mumbled, his tone falling tired after Dreams lack of enthusiasm. 

George got everything ready, putting gloves over his sweaty hands. He knew it was childish to still get anxiety of him after seeing him for so long now, but he couldn't help it at all. He watched as Dream removed his shirt, his lean muscle showing. 

"Don't stare too long," his voice teased. George looked into the mirror to see Dream smirking. 

George rolled his eyes playful, a warm smile replacing his frown. He grabbed for the needle after he had prepped the area, nodding his head toward the cartridge of black ink he held. 

It had become routine that George asked if black ink was alright. He always wondered if he would all of a sudden ask for a different color. Dream always said that black was alright, but he knew it eased George's anxiety when he said it was. 

He nodded, and hummed when he felt the needle hit his skin. He had grown to like getting tattoo's, also liking that he got them by the same person. Even if he was busy, he would wait for George to finish other tattoo's before getting his. It was routine. 

"I'm sorry if this is weird, but why do you get tally marks?" George inquires, wiping a fresh line he had just made. "What are you counting?" 

He knew it was bad, but he needed to know. He had been coming for a few months now, getting so many tally marks. George needed to know if he would continue to add more and more marks. 

"Oh—I'm a surgeon," he vaguely mumbled, before continuing, "For every life I fail to save, I get a new tally mark. It's a symbol of remembrance for them." 

In all of his guesses he had tried to make during his insomniac nights of pondering on the thought of Dream, that was not one of them.

"That's—" George tried to say something, but it's on the tip of his tongue and he can't remember what he was going to say. "That's, sweet." 

"Sweet." He repeats, a bitterness fuming into the air with his tone. "It's morbid, really. I can't save them, and it makes me feel like a shitty person." 

"The most you can do is try." George shrugged his shoulders, trying to give good advice. "You can't get everything right." 

"No, you can't." He sighed, staring into the mirror longingly. "But we're talking about human lives here, George." 

George loved he easily his name rolled off his tongue, how easily he said it. He wondered what his name tasted like on Dreams tongue. If he tasted anything when saying his name. 

"Do you do your hardest to save them?" George asked, his tone firm. "Do you go to special extents to make sure that person stays alive?" 

"I try to, but sometimes there's nothing you can do." Dream sighed, his mind going to the last person he had let die. It was a female, and she was young, but there wasn't more he could do to help her. 

"There you go. You do your best, and you try your hardest to make sure someone makes it out alive." George let out a small smile as he finished the tally mark. "Sometimes, you just can't save people."

—

The cool breeze of November air had hit. It was the first of November, also known as George's birthday. All he wanted was to be able to see Dream again, to have a pit of excitement trail from his stomach to his head, to give him the best headache he would ask for. He loved the headaches he got when he was around Dream—it made him believe that Dream was very much real and not a fragment of his imagination. 

"You're early." George points out as he watched Dream walk through the door with a smile on his face. He seemed cheerful—happy. 

George thought he deserved it. 

"Happy birthday!" He exclaimed, earning a smile from George. George found it admirable that he knew, though he didn't know how he did.

"How did you know?" George questioned, sitting down in the chair next to Dream. 

"I overheard you talking with Nick about it last time I was hear," Dream shrugged, "You have a birthday party coming up?" 

Not too long ago, Sapnap had met Dream. It was awkward for George, but they seemed to hit it off. 

"Goodbye, George!" Sapnap called out. 

"Have a good night! See you tomorrow!" George called out, turning from his client and waving. 

"Bye!" Dream jokingly called out, earning a giggle from George to disburse in the air. 

Sapnap stopped in his tracks, looking between the two. They spoke quietly to each other, as if they were trying to keep the conversation hushed. Sapnap had an idea. 

"Is this the guy?" His voice was high pitched and knowing. George blushed deeply. 

"W-what?" He choked out, trying to tell Sapnap to stop whatever he was trying to do. 

"The one I asked you about last time?" Sapnap had a smirk on his face, looking between George's angry expression and Dreams confident one. 

"I'm sure," Dream cockily stated, turning and looking at Sapnap fully. 

George blushed more now and put his head in his hands. He didn't need the embarrassment and awkward tension now. He didn't need his best friend to meet the man he liked without him even knowing if he liked him back. 

"Yeah," George huffed in annoyance, obviously not thrilled for the party,"Sapnap demands he throws me a party because he has three frats waiting for a party this big." 

Sapnap was well known to many colleges, and he somehow managed to get three frat parties in on George's birthday party. He knew it would be like a normal party, with young adults swaying against each other, alcohol drifting through the air sickly. George despised parties. Especially large ones. 

"You don't seem like someone who enjoyed parties." Dream pointed out, his tone apologetic. 

"I don't, especially not big ones like this," George sighed, wiping off his tattoo needle and gesturing to the black ink. Dream nodded, then he dipped it in. "There's just too many people." 

"Is it tonight?" Dream questioned. 

"Yes. It starts in about, two hours. It's right after I get off of work." George explained, starting his first stroke of his tattoo gun. 

"Have fun." Dream sounded unamused.

"I can try, but it'd be no fun without you there." George slyly stated, a grin on his face.

George gave a hopeful glance up from Dreams shoulder, staring into the mirror. Dream had a smirk on his lips now, his eyes lidded. 

"Is that your try at inviting me?" He laughed, more of a wheeze as he looked at George. 

"It is. You don't have to say yes, I get it if you're busy after this." George mumbled, his cheeks tinting a light pink instead of crimson.

"Actually, I'm not." Dreams tone was grateful, "But I'd have to go home and change out of my scrubs." 

George studied his clothes for a second, seeing he was in a pair of black scrubs. The black ones were his favorite, and Dream knew that. 

"You look good in black," George studied Dream as he walked in, his eyes darting to Dreams black scrubs that he was wearing. 

"Noted." Dream teased.

He was sure Dream knew everything about him. He was easy to read—sometimes, not always. Dream seemed to wedge his way between the line George had set for himself. He didn't want to get too attached to Dream, but that was thrown out the window a long time ago. 

"Is that a yes?" George's voice came out hopeful.

"Yes. But only if you have the good booze there." Dream turned when he felt George put the tattoo gun down, his face saying it all. 

"Sapnap is buying, I'm not sure how much good booze you'll get." George admitted, almost embarrassed about the booze pickings.

"Does he get cheap booze?" Dream asked, a disarray of unsatisfactory forming on his face. 

"He's more of a beer guy." George tilted his head, explaining his best friend. 

"No." Dream stated in disbelief, his eyes widening. 

"Yes!" George chuckled, patting Dreams side so he could lean forward in the chair again. Dream obliged, leaning forward 

"Do you drink?" Dream inquired, his tone curious. 

"No, I keep away from any drugs or alcohol." George simply stated, wiping extra ink from Dreams tattoo.

"Why?" 

"Why? Cause i'm trying to live past the age of thirty." George sassed, moving his face to look at Dreams in the mirror. Dream rolled his eyes playfully. 

"A little liquor never hurt nobody." Dream scoffed, earning a shake of the head by George. 

"Says all of the people who die from liver poisoning," George challenged, staring up at Dreams dark gaze. 

"You're talking about people who massive alcohol addictions, George." Dream shook his head at the sound of George's tone. 

"Still." 

"I just asked." Dream claimed. 

"Mhm." George hummed, asking afterward, "Anyways, another tally? I never asked how many."

"Two, sadly." Dream sighed. George frowned. 

"If you came in on time, would it have been more?" George asked, though he knew he shouldn't have.

"I'm not sure. I'd hope it wasn't, but you can't be so sure." Dream gave a lazy look to the mirror, his eyes finding George's. 

"Not everyone is savable, Dream." George repeated from an earlier conversation the two had had.

"So you've told me." Dream sassed.

"No need to sass me, I'm just pointing out the obvious." George mumbled, a little disappointed at Dreams sudden outburst. 

"Sorry." Dream mumbled. 

The rest of their time together wasn't very talkative. The only real conversation was where the party was going to be, who's house it was at. George didn't want to ignite any conversation due to the mood Dream seemed to be in. Dream didn't seem all that okay, but George didn't know how to comfort or ask if he was okay. He opted to just watch him leave with a simple, "See you later!"

George rushed home that night, changing immediately. The party started twenty minutes after he got home and he knew the place was already packed. He knew Sapnap already had drinks going, music flowing through the air. 

The party was in Sapnaps house, or his fathers house. George knew the house like the back of his hand, he knew what rooms were what. That could be useful for later, if he played his cards right. 

He showed up at the party five minutes early, already dwindling at the smell of cheap alcohol and sweat. George could hear the music from two blocks away, but the house was in a secluded area, so they had nothing really to worry about. 

Sapnap found him immediately, throwing a drunken arm over George's shoulder and shouting in the crowd, "Here comes the birthday boy!" 

Cheers erupted from the crowd of hundreds of people, claps also evident. Sapnap chanted something along the lines of, "Let's get this party started!" But George couldn't really hear. 

His eyes searched for one person in particular. He wasn't having fun one bit, but he thought it was a cute gesture by Sapnap to try and give him the time of his life. Sapnap knew his dislike for crowds, but he wanted George to live for once. 

A trail of despair lined George's neck, raising goosebumps all over his body. What if Dream didn't come? What if George invited him for no reason? It didn't sound like Dream to pass up on an offer he already agreed too, but what it something came up?

George's heart sputtered when he felt a pair of hands wrap around his waist tightly, pulling him back closely. George craned his neck to see Dream with a dark and seductive glint in his gaze. 

George liked the look of that. 

"You made it," George leaned closer to Dream could hear him over the hundreds of people and loud music. Dream grinned, moving his hands. 

"I did," his hot breath fanned George's cheeks, a tint of beer coming from it. George smiled. 

"You drank a beer? I thought you didn't like cheap  
booze?" He teased, taking a step closer to Dreams body. Dream was leaning forward, already trying to keep ahold of George's body. 

"I don't, but I needed a confidence booster." He smiled, leaning down and staring into George's eyes intently, his dark gaze growing darker. 

"Confidence booster for what?" George asked, leaning closer. 

He wanted this. He wanted to indulge in Dream tonight. He wanted Dream to take him away to a random room in the house, to make him shout his  
name. He wanted Dream to make him cum, to make him his. George would do anything to come his. 

"This," he trailed off, brining his lips down softly on George's. George kissed back, flushing their bodies together in an instant. 

The kiss soon became sloppy, and harsh. George loved the feeling of Dream being rough with him. It was a sensation he had longed for the moment he set a hand on Dreams shoulder to give him a tattoo. 

George smirked when he felt Dreams hard on poking at his hips, Dream pulling away with a hungry expression. George grabbed his hand and wordlessly took him somewhere in the house. 

Dream followed mindlessly, not daring to take his eyes off of George. He wanted to make George his. He knew George's wanted it to, George was never good at hiding anything from him. 

The moment George lead them to a room, he was pushed against the door as soon as it closed. His breath was knocked out of him in a surprised gasp, and Dream took it upon himself to slip his tongue into George mouth, exploring. 

Dream became handsy, gripping the ends of George's shirt. He pulled it up and over George's head, discarding it somewhere else in the room. 

In an instant, their lips connected again. 

It was a mindless game of dominance and Dream easily won. George was okay with that, he liked being dominated by Dream. 

He had wanted it for months now. George had no clue when Dream started to want this, but it had to of been in their earlier days of acquaintance. 

He was being too passionate—having too much bottled up emotions being released—for this to be something he only just started to feel. 

They moved to the bed in a hurried thrust, Dream pushing George's onto the bed. He had discarded his shirt as well, smirking when he felt George's eyes rake down his body in one swift motion. 

"You like what you see?" He teased. 

"I always have," George muttered, pulling Dreams lips back down to his hastily. He let out a muffled moan into Dreams lips when he felt a knee being placed between his thighs. 

Dream smirked now, pulling away from the kiss slowly pulling down George's pants and underwear. His erection sprung free, a small blush coating his cheeks as he watched Dream smile. 

"Do you have lube?" Dream asked, watching as George nodded hastily. He rolled over on the bed and pulled out a bottle from his bedside table. 

The room they were in happened to be one or Sapnap's guest bedrooms. Sapnap had used it before for certain activities, jokingly telling George that there is lube in the nightstand drawer. He'd never think George would actually use it, but here he is. 

Dream grabbed the lube from George's slim fingers, his pale skin burning hot as he waited for Dream. George whined when Dream took too long, earning a chuckle from Dream. 

"You have to be patient," he teased, lubricating his fingers thoroughly. He brought his fingers down.

George waited, for something to happen, for anything to happen, but nothing did. He looked back to Dream before he felt rough hands grab his hips, pulling him to sit up. 

"Hands and knees," he demanded, watching as George did as told almost immediately. 

George turned he head and saw a full length mirror in front of him. He was in the middle of the mirror, staring back at himself. He looked needy, his hair a mess from their intense make out. His eyes were lidded from horniness, his lips swollen. He saw Dream behind him with a smirk. 

"You seem to have a thing with mirrors." George mumbled, feeling a hand push against the middle of his shoulder blades. 

"You need to see how pretty you are, George." Dream teased, watching as George put his chest to the bed and his ass up in the air. "You need to see how pretty you are when you get fucked by me."

George almost came just by hearing his voice. 

There was always something to soothing yet seductive about the way Dream spoke. No matter how hard George tried to describe it, he could never find the right words. But he knew he loved listening to Dreams voice, especially in this moment. 

"Do you want this?" Dream asked conceptually, looking for any sort of discomfort in George's eyes through the mirror. 

"Fuck—yes, Dream!" George rambled, his need growing stronger by the second. "Hurry up!"

"So needy for me, aren't we, George?" He asked, moving his lubed hand to George's asshole and inserting one finger without any warning. 

"Just fuck me already!" George's face twisted in pleasure when Dream inserted another finger. 

George was needy, he didn't need to admit it. Anybody could see it. Dream liked that. 

George moaned into the blankets, feeling a hand to be brought around to his cock. He gasped in shock when he felt a thumb run over his sensitive tip, causing him to cry out in pleasure. 

"So pretty, George," Dream praised, admiring him in the mirror. George tried to smile, but Dream was causing too much stimulation for him to do it. 

"Stop, y-you're gonna make me—" With that, Dream pulled away, watching as George waited. 

His face twisted back to normal from his almost high, his lips swollen from biting at them. He moved his gaze to the mirror, watching as his hair stuck to his forehead from the sweat that had formed. 

Dream had taken off his pants and underwear somewhere during that time period. George moved his gaze to Dreams fully erect cock. It looked just as needy as George did, and George gasped at the size. 

Dream lined himself up with George's asshole, giving him one devilish smirk before entering slowly. He gave George time to adjust to his size, but George wanted more. George didn't want prep. 

He had realized that it's happening. George never wanted it to end. He wanted to be filled by Dream at all times, he wanted Dream to want him. To want George to plead his name. George wanted Dream in every way you could want a person. On a level just beyond physical, but right now, he wanted physical. 

"You have no clue how long I've been waiting for this." Dream moaned as he finally bottomed out, staying still for a second before moving. 

"God—fuck, you have no idea, Dream," George whined, putting a hand to his lips and running his fingers along his lips to satisfy them. "I've been waiting forever." 

"You aren't waiting anymore, baby," Dream smirked, admiring the way his hair slicked a little due to the forming beads of sweat on his forehead in the mirror, "Take it in."

George listened, trying to not cum just by listening to his voice. But then he said, 

"You deserve it, birthday boy." Dream had a proud smirk on his face, proud that he could see the twisting pleasure on George's face.

And George did. 

He took in every single stroke Dream gave him, every single moan of pleasure that had left his mouth. How lidded his eyes were from the overwhelming sensation, how completely okay he was with Dream ruining him. 

He wanted Dream to ruin him.

"No," Dream snarled, bringing his head down to George's ear, "You need to look in the mirror at all times."

George turned his head to look in the mirror. His eyes were dazed and glossed with tears, tears of pure pleasure. He couldn't help but stare at Dreams face, how his eyes lidded as well, how his lips parted to let out soft moans. He looked god-like. 

George felt a pool of warmth fill his stomach, a knot forming as well. He knew he couldn't hold it much longer, and he could tell Dream was just about done because of how sloppy his strokes had become. 

"I'm gonna—" George couldn't even finish his sentence before he moaned out from hitting his high. 

White liquid sputtered onto the comforter, as George moaned into the sheets. Dream smiled, quickly pulling out and cumming on George's back. 

George flopped on the bed from exhaustion, completely spent from the amazing sex he had just had. Dream moved to pick up the closest piece of clothing to him, which happened to be one of Sapnap's old shirts, wiping off George's back. 

Once he was done, he threw the shirt into what he thought was a hamper, flopping next to George. He pulled George close, pushing back his hair and rubbing his scalp in attempt to comfort him. 

They decided not to say much for a while, just to enjoy each other's company. George soon realized that they'd have to leave the room, because Sapnap may try to check to see if everyone's left and he also may be expecting to see George. 

"We have to go back out there," George sighed, going to sit up but he felt Dream pull him back down. 

"I know," he mumbled, pulling George's head to his chest, "But can we stay like this for a little, please?" 

George nodded into his chest, allowing himself to get comfortable. They stayed like that for an hour, just in each other embrace. George enjoyed how meaningful Dream was, how much he knew Dream wanted that as much as he did. 

They left the room soon, George having a small limp. Dream smirked proudly, helping George walk. George scolded Dream for the limp, but Dream just simply replied with, 

"Don't act like you didn't enjoy it." 

And George couldn't argue back. 

He enjoyed it, a lot. 

— 

A few more months has passed. 

George was soon the person who stayed at Dreams house even through he knew Dream had work the next morning. He was the person who would stay early mornings extra because Dream didn't want to let go of his while they were cuddling. He was the person Dream took out to dinner and star gazing just because he wanted to. He was the person Dream never wanted to let go of. 

He was the person who loved Dream. 

Their one year anniversary of knowing each other was coming up, and Dream knew that. He wanted to take George to a special place, he wanted to make it the most meaningful thing that George could ever experience. He wanted George to know he loved him. To the moon and back. 

He wanted George to know that he longed for his gentle touch when getting a tattoo. He wanted George to know that he gets the same amount of burning passion burning through his veins when he looks at George for even a second. He wanted George to know that his heart skips a beat whenever he lets his real laugh go and he laughs his heart out. 

He wanted George to know that he'd do anything for him. That he's his everything. 

But he never got to tell him that. 

—

"I'm going to the grocery store!" George called out from the kitchen of their apartment. George had moved in about a month ago, simply because Dream wanted him to and he knew George wouldn't say no. 

"I'm leaving for work in a few minutes," Dream looked at the clock on their nightstand. "I'll see you when I get home from work!" 

"Okay! See you then!" George called out as he left the house. Dream left soon after, heading to work. 

His shift had gone normal as he expected, but soon something happened that he hadn't been expecting. 

"Emergency surgery!" A nurse called from down the hallway, coming through the hallway with a person on a stretcher. "I need the first open surgeon!" 

Dream walked over to the stretcher, taking the chart from the nurses hand immediately. He opened the chart and walked beside them, but he stopped in his tracks at the name on the paper. 

"George Davidson?" He asked, watching as the nurse hurriedly nodded, walking down the hall to the first open OR room. 

Dream followed closely, trying to get a close look at his face, but it looked swollen and beaten. His eyes shifted to the large metal pole coming through his stomach and he almost threw up. George was hurt, critically and he was in Dreams hands. 

"What happened?" Dream asked, walking quickly. 

"A 18-wheeler truck hit into the side of his car, sending him flying into a street post lamp, parts of it are still lodged in his stomach—as you can see," she pointed to the metal piece that other nurses were working around to keep him alive. 

"If we don't get it out soon, he's going to die," another nurse called out as they started to run down the hall now. They made it quickly and Dream hurriedly got on his surgical gear. 

He walked in afterward, slipping into the sanitary coat the nurses were holding. He felt like he was going to throw up, but he sucked on his tongue to keep to down, trying to breath normally. 

Dream felt like his world was spinning around him. He felt dizzy, his hands felt shaky and his tongue felt numb. Perhaps he was biting it to hard, to anxious for his own good. His lungs felt empty of any air he was trying to breath, his throat failing to not get lumps of nervousness between it. 

He tried to take a deep breath, but nothing was working to calm his nerves. He stared down at the male in front of him. It was him. He was on the operation table before him, his stomach lodged with a large piece of metal from a street lamp. 

Dream knew this would be a hard operation, that the operation would never go according to plan. He knew, but he'd never except anything less than his absolute hardest in this moment. 

He glanced around the crowded room, seeing many more people than needed in the room. Maybe they were needed, but he'd never seen an surgery room as packed as this one. 

His hands were shaky as he grabbed his first tool, walking over to his stomach. He was gentle, his hands becoming as soft as George's are. 

You do your best...

George's words rang through his ears, defending any other sound that was in the room. He worked harder at the sweet sound of his voice, the gentle shock leaving his chest as he worked. 

And you try your hardest...

He almost screwed his eyes shut as he remembered the words that would follow this. But he kept his eyes open, demanding them to stay open. He needed to get this surgery done—to have it be a success.

To make sure someone makes it out alive.

His breath hitched now as he worked with the tissue lining in George's stomach. He tried to work around the metal that protruded from George's stomach, but it was far too large. His eyes had to be teared away from scene in front of him, before he looked back. 

Sometimes...

He waited, for the words to run through his mind. His chest boomed with regret, with despair. It dripped down to his lungs, softly burning his lungs with hot fire. His lungs felt like lava and his stomach felt like it was becoming a lava pit. His throat scorched with hot saliva he swallowed out of nervousness, salvia that would barely make it down his throat without choking him. 

You just can't save people. 

"He's flatlining!" A nurse hurriedly shouted, rushing commotion coming from the rest of the room. 

Dream stayed still, but then he was pushed out of the way by feverishly moving nurses. His stomach had dropped and he hurriedly pulled off his blood covered surgical gloves. He threw them away, rushing out of the room without hesitation. 

He couldn't bare to listen to the flatline of his heart monitor. He just couldn't do it. 

He walked out of the hospital into the cool air, letting it fan his face and take the burning sensation to a numb and cool feeling. His stomach dropped, tears immediately brimming his eyes. 

Had he done enough? Had he tried his hardest to save him? 

He couldn't even think straight. His mind felt jumbled, like everything was out of place. He was flatlining, he was dying. He wasn't going to be in the world anymore. 

Dream wouldn't be able to wake up the the sweet sounds of him snoring beside him, after not leaving the night before because he was too tired to drive home. He wouldn't be able to watch George dance to himself in the morning as he made breakfast, dancing like nobody was watching—like he didn't care what the world thought of him. He wouldn't be able to send shivers down George's spine as he kissed him passionately under the stars. He wouldn't be able to go to his birthday parties anymore, to tease him in front of everyone he's friends with. 

He wouldn't be able to see him. He wouldn't be able to touch him. George wouldn't be with him. 

He cried into his palms, rubbing his eyes way too harshly. He sat on the ground, allowing his panic attack to subside normally. But it went on forever. It felt like forever. He wondered if this is the feeling George felt when waiting for him every three weeks when they first met. If he had a pit of anxiety in his stomach every time they caught glances. 

"He didn't make it, did he?" A voice croaked from above him. Dream pulled his bloodshot eyes from his palms, watching Nick stand in front of him. 

Dreams face had said it all. His scrubs had tears stains all down the chest, some resting on the tops of his thighs. His cheeks were glossed with tear stains as well, his eyes glassy. Sapnap looked to be crying as well, but his looked to be dried. 

Dream didn't answer, he only put his head back down and continued to sob. Nick sat on the ground next to him, rubbing his back lightly to help. Dream enjoyed the comforting touch, but it wasn't George's.

Nick knew that, but he tried to help.

—

A funeral was held a few days later. 

Dream decided he would go, actually, forced himself out of bed to go. Nick needed him and he wanted to get to say his final goodbyes. 

When he got there, a large amount of people were there. He wondered if George actually knew every body in the room, but he never questioned anybody. 

He couldn't bare to go to the casket. No matter how hard he wanted to say his goodbyes, he wouldn't look at George's dead body in the casket. He'd wait, until he was alone to speak about it. 

So he did. 

He waited until his casket was underground and a tombstone was placed on his grave. Dream cried for a little before he started to speak. 

He told George that he was everything he could of every asked for. That he was just a tattoo artist who happened to gain more than just a new client. That he was the sun when it didn't shine through the fog during rainy days. That he was the adrenaline you get when riding a new rollercoaster for the first time. That head the person Dream wanted to marry. 

"I love you, George." Dream sobbed, wiping his tears. He walked away that day, letting his sorrows bury themselves deep into his stomach. 

Regret wedged between every thought in his brain, regret that he didn't try harder to keep him alive. Regret that George never got to meet his parents. Regret that he never got to say "I love you" before he died. Dream regretted everything. 

Everything but him. 

Dream wouldn't never regret George. 

—

The bell of the tattoo parlor chimed, alerting there was a customer coming in. Nick raised his head and gave Dream a sappy smile. 

It had only been a week since George's death, so it was still be to them both. Nick decided to go back to work, to live up to George's expectations for the tattoo parlor. He wanted George to be happy. 

"Coming for a tattoo?" Sapnap asked, moving to a station so Dream could follow. 

It pained Dream when he couldn't go to his normal station, but it would be for the best. He needed to stay strong for Dream in this moment. 

"Yes," Dream let out a shaky breath, taking his shirt off and showing Sapnap the array of tally marks on his right shoulder. "I need another." 

"Oh, George had stencils for those over here," he walked to where George kept the stencils for Dreams tattoos he would frequently get. 

A ghost of George passed through Dream, closing his eyes so he could imagine his smile as he gave Dream a new tattoo, how he laughed when Dream said something even a little funny. 

Sapnap prepped his shoulder where a new tally slot would go, grabbing his needle slowly and going toward the colors of ink. 

"Black ink?" He asked. 

Dream felt his stomach drop. It wouldn't be a black this time. He wanted it to symbolize George. 

"No, um, blue ink, please," he requested, seeing Sapnap dipped the needle into a royal blue ink. 

This tally symbolizes George. 

It symbolizes the early mornings and late nights between their work shifts. It symbolizes the tattoo guns and tattoo stencils that stayed the same for so many months. It symbolizes the sweet conversations and sweet nothings they spoke with each other for so long. It symbolizes the glimmering under the late night sky, the gleaming under the early morning sun. It symbolizes the tears they shared, the tears Dream wish's he could spill. It symbolizes the love, the deep compassion they shared after just a few months of knowing each other. It symbolizes George. 

A life he couldn't save, but a life he'd miss the most.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for all of the support! I made this in like 6 hours and didn’t really like it, but you guys seem too! 
> 
> Have a great day!


End file.
